953 


ffir-NRLir 


*B   lbs    iib 


W 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


PRESENTED  BY 

PROF. CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 

MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


:^:M,^a^lmm 


ALCIPHRON. 


•  1 


■^^  li 


AL  C  IPHRON, 


^  J3oem» 


BY    THOMAS    MOORE,  ESQ. 

AUTHOR   OF    LALLA   ROOKH,    ETC.,    ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA : 

CAREY     AND     HART. 

1840. 


Printed  by 
Hasvvell,  Barrington,  and  Haswell. 


oh. 


ALCIPHRON. 


LETTER  I. 

FROM  ALCIPHRON  AT  ALEXANDRIA  TO  CLEON  AT  ATHENS. 

Well  may  you  wonder  at  my  flight 

From  those  fair  Gardens,  in  whose  bowers 
Lingers  whate'er  of  wise  and  bright, 
Of  Beauty's  smile  or  Wisdom's  light, 

Is  left  to  grace  this  world  of  ours. 
Well  may  my  comrades,  as  they  roam, 

On  evenings  sweet  as  this,  inquire 
Why  I  have  left  that  happy  home 
Where  all  is  found  that  all  desire, 
And  Time  hath  wings  that  never  tire; 
Where  bliss,  in  all  the  countless  shapes 
That  Fancy's  self  to  bliss  hath  given, 
Comes  clustering  round,  like  road-side  grapes 
That  woo  the  traveller's  lip,  at  even ; 


Ivi317560 


}  ALCIPHRON. 

Where  Wisdom  flings  not  joy  away, — 
As  Pallas  in  the  stream,  they  say, 
Once  flung  her  flute, — but  smiling  owns 
That  woman's  lip  can  send  forth  tones 
Worth  all  the  music  of  those  spheres 
So  many  dream  of,  but  none  hears ; 
Where  Virtue's  self  puts  on  so  well 

Her  sister  Pleasure's  smile  that,  loth 
From  either  nymph  apart  to  dwell, 

We  finish  by  embracing  both. 

Yes,  such  the  place  of  bliss,  I  own. 
From  all  whose  charms  I  just  have  flown  : 
And  ev'n  while  thus  to  thee  1  write. 

And  by  the  Nile's  dark  flood  recline, 
Fondly,  in  thought,  I  wing  my  flight 
Back  to  those  groves  and  gardens  bright. 
And  often  think,  by  this  sweet  light, 

How  lovelily  they  all  must  shine  ; 
Can  see  that  graceful  temple  throw 

Down  the  green  slope  its  lengthen'd  shade. 
While,  on  the  marble  steps  below. 

There  sits  some  fair  Athenian  maid, 
Over  some  favourite  volume  bending  ; 

And,  by  her  side,  a  youthful  sage 
Holds  back  the  ringlets  that,  descending, 

Would  else  o'ershadow  all  the  page* 


ALCIPHRON. 

But  hence  such  thoughts  ! — nor  let  me  grieve 
O'er  scenes  of  joy  that  I  but  leave, 
As  the  bird  quits  awhile  its  nest 
To  come  again  with  livelier  zest. 

And  now  to  tell  thee — what  I  fear 
Thou'lt  gravely  smile  at — why  I'm  here. 
Though  through  my  life's  short,  sunny  dream, 

I've  floated  without  pain  or  care. 
Like  a  light  leaf,  dow^n  pleasure's  stream, 

Caught  in  each  sparkling  eddy  there  ; 
Though  never  Mirth  awaked  a  strain 
That  my  heart  echoed  not  again  ; 
Yet  have  I  felt,  when  ev'n  most  gay. 

Sad  thoughts— I  know  not  whence  or  why — 
Suddenly  o'er  my  spirit  fly. 
Like  clouds,  that,  ere  we've  time  to  say 

"  How  bright  the  sky  is  !"  shade  the  sky. 
Sometimes  so  vague,  so  undefin'd 
Were  these  strange  darkenings  of  my  mind — 
While  nought  but  joy  around  me  beam'd 

So  causelessly  they've  come  and  flown, 
That  not  of  life  or  earth  they  seem'd, 

But  shadows  from  some  world  unknown. 
More  oft,  however,  'twas  the  thought 
How  soon  that  scene,  with  all  its  play 
Of  life  and  gladness  must  decay, — 


8  ALCIPHROUr. 

Those  lips  I  prest,  the  hands  I  caught — 
Myself, — the  crowd  that  mirth  had  brought 
Around  me, — swept  like  weeds  away  . 

:  This  thought  it  was  that  came  to  shed 

O'er  rapture's  hour  its  worst  alloys  ; 
And,  close  as  shade  with  sunshine,  wed 

Its  sadness  with  my  happiest  joys. 
Oh,  but  for  this  disheart'ning  voice 

Stealing  amid  our  mirth  to  say 
That  all,  in  which  we  most  rejoice, 

Ere  night  may  be  the  earth-worm's  prey — 
But  for  this  bitter — only  this — 
Full  as  the  world  is  brimm'd  with  bliss, 
And  capable  as  feels  my  soul 
Of  draining  to  its  dregs  the  whole, 
"     I  should  turn  earth  to  heav'n,  and  be, 
If  bliss  made  Gods,  a  Deity  ! 

Thou  know'st  that  night — the  very  last 
That  with  my  Garden  friends  I  pass'd — 
When  the  School  held  its  feast  of  mirth 
To  celebrate  our  founder's  birth. 
And  all  that  He  in  dreams  but  saw 
When  he  set  Pleasure  on  the  throne 
Of  this  bright  world,  and  wrote  her  law 
In  human  hearts,  was  felt  and  known — 


ALCIPHROJV. 

Not  in  unreal  dreams,  but  true, 
Substantial  joy  as  pulse  e'er  knew, — 
By  hearts  and  bosoms,  that  each  felt 
Itself  the  realm  where  Pleasure  dwelt. 

That  night,  when  all  our  mirth  was  o'er. 

The  minstrels  silent,  and  the  feet 
Of  the  young  maidens  heard  no  more — 

So  stilly  was  the  time,  so  sweet, 
And  such  a  calm  came  o'er  that  scene. 
Where  life  and  revel  late  had  been — 
Lone  as  the  quiet  of  some  bay. 
From  which  the  sea  hath  ebb'd  away — 
That  still  I  linger'd,  lost  in  thought, 

Gazing  upon  the  stars  of  night. 
Sad  and  intent,  as  if  I  sought 

Some  mournful  secret  in  their  light ; 
And  ask'd  them,  mid  that  silence,  why 
Man,  glorious  man,  alone  must  die. 
While  they,  less  wonderful  than  he, 
Shine  on  through  all  eternity. 

That  night — thou  haply  may'st  forget 
Its  loveliness— but  'twas  a  night 

To  make  earth's  meanest  slave  regret 
Leaving  a  world  so  soft  and  bright. 

On  one  side,  in  the  dark  blue  sky, 

Lonely  and  radiant,  was  the  eye 


10  ALCIPHRON. 

Of  Jove  himself,  while,  on  the  other, 

'Mong  stars  that  came  out  one  by  one, 
The  young  moon — like  the  Roman  mother 

Among  her  living  jewels — shone. 
"  Oh  that  from  yonder  orbs,"  I  thought, 

"  Pure  and  eternal  as  they  are, 
There  could  to  earth  some  power  be  brought 
Some  charm,  with  their  own  essence  fraught, 

To  make  man  deathless  as  a  star. 
And  open  to  his  vast  desires 

A  course,  as  boundless  and  sublime 
As  lies  before  those  comet-fires. 

That  roam  and  burn  throughout  all  time  !" 

While  thoughts  like  these  absorbed  my  mind, 

That  weariness  which  earthly  bliss, 
However  sweet,  still  leaves  behind, 

As  if  to  show  how  earthly  'tis. 
Came  lulling  o'er  me,  and  I  laid 

My  limbs  at  that  fair  statue's  base — 
That  miracle,  which  Art  hath  made 

Of  all  the  choice  of  Nature's  grace — 
To  which  so  oft  I've  knelt  and  sworn. 

That,  could  a  living  maid  like  her 
Unto  this  wondering  world  be  boro, 

I  would,  myself,  turn  worshipper. 


ALCIPHRON.  1 1 

Sleep  came  then  o'er  me, — and  I  seem'd 

To  be  transported  far  away 
To  a  bleak  desert  plain,  where  gleam'u 

One  single,  melancholy  ray, 
Throughout  that  darkness  dimly  shed 

From  a  small  taper  in  the  hand 
Of  one,  who,  pale  as  are  the  dead, 

Before  me  took  his  spectral  stand, 
And  said,  while,  awfully  a  smile 

Came  o'er  the  wanness  of  his  cheek — 
"  Go,  and,  beside  the  sacred  Nile, 

You'll  find  th'  Eternal  Life  you  seek." 

Soon  as  he  spoke  these  words,  the  hue 
Of  death  upon  his  features  grew — 
Like  the  pale  morning,  when  o'er  night 
She  gains  the  victory — full  of  light ; 
While  the  small  torch  he  held  became 
A  glory  in  his  hand,  whose  flame 
Brighten'd  the  desert  suddenly, 

Ev'n  to  the  far  horizon's  line — 
Along  whose  level  I  could  see 

Gardens  and  groves,  that  seem'd  to  shine. 
As  if  then  freshly  o'er  them  played 
A  vernal  rainbow's  rich  cascade. 
While  music  was  heard  every  where, 
Breathing,  as  'twere  itself  the  air, 


12  ALCIPHRON. 

And  spirits,  on  whose  wings  the  hue 
Of  heav'n  still  linger'd,  round  me  flew, 
Till  from  all  sides  such  splendours  broke, 
That  with  the  excess  of  light,  I  woke  I 

Such  was  my  dream  ; — and,  I  confess. 

Though  none  of  all  our  creedless  school 
Hath  e'er  believ'd,  or  reverenc'd  less 

The  fables  of  the  priest-led  fool. 
Who  tells  us  of  a  soul,  a  mind, 
Separate  and  pure,  within  us  shrin'd, 
"Which  is  to  live — ah  hope  too  bright  I^ 
For  ever  in  yon  fields  of  light ; — 
Who  fondly  thinks  the  guardian  eyes 

Of  Gods  are  on  hira, — as  if,  blest 
And  blooming  in  their  own  blue  skies, 
Th'  eternal  Gods  were  not  too  wise 

To  let  weak  man  disturb  their  rest ! — - 
Though  thinking  of  such  creeds  as  thou 

And  all  our  Garden  sages  think, 
Yet  is  there  something,  I  allow. 

In  dreams  like  this — a  sort  of  link 
With  worlds  unseen,  which,  from  the  hour 

1  first  could  lisp  my  thoughts  till  now. 
Hath  master'd  me  with  spell-like  power. 

And  who  can  tell,  as  we're  combin'd 
Of  various  atoms, — some  refined, 


ALCIPHRON.  13 

Like  those  that  scintillate  and  play 
In  the  fix'd  stars, — some,  gross  as  they 
That  frown  in  clouds  or  sleep  in  clay, — 
Who  can  be  sure,  but  'tis  the  best 

And  brightest  atoms  of  our  frame, 

Those  most  akin  to  stellar  flame, 
That  shine  out  thus,  when  we're  at  rest ; — 
Ev'n  as  their  kindred  stars,  whose  light 
Comes  out  but  in  the  silent  night. 
Or  is  it  that  there  lurks,  indeed. 
Some  truth  in  Man's  prevailing  creed. 
And  that  our  Guardians,  from  on  high. 

Come,  in  that  pause  from  toil  and  sin, 
To  put  the  senses'  curtain  by, 

And  on  the  wakeful  soul  look  in  ! 

Vain  thought! — but  yet,  howe'er  it  be. 

Dreams,  more  than  once,  have  prov'd  to  me 

Oracles,  truer  far  than  Oak, 

Or  Dove,  or  Tripod  ever  spoke. 

And  'twas  the  words — thou'lt  hear  and  smile — 

The  words  that  phantom  seem'd  to  speak — 
"  Go,  and  beside  the  sacred  Nile 

You'll  find  the  Eternal  life  you  seek, — " 
That,  haunting  me  by  night,  by  day. 

At  length,  as  with  the  unseen  hand 
Of  Fate  itself,  urg'd  me  away 

From  Athens  to  this  Holy  Land  ; 


14  ALCIPHRON. 

Where,  'mong  the  secrets,  still  untaught. 
The  myst'ries  that,  as  yet,  nor  sun 

Nor  eye  hath  reach'd — oh  blessed  thought  !- 
May  sleep  this  everlasting  one. 

Farewell — when  to  our  Garden  friends 
Thou  talk'st  of  the  wild  dream  that  sends 
The  gayest  of  their  school  thus  far, 
Wandering  beneath  Canopus'  star. 
Tell  them  that,  wander  where  he  will. 

Or,  howsoe'er  they  now  condemn 
His  vague  and  vain  pursuit,  he  still 

Is  worthy  of  the  School  and  them ; — 
Still,  all  their  own, — nor  e'er  forgets, 

Ev'n  while  his  heart  and  soul  pursue 
Th'  Eternal  Light  which  never  sets, 

The  many  meteor  joys  that  do, 
But  seeks  them,  hails  them  with  delight 
Where'er  they  meet  his  longing  sight. 
And,  if  his  life  must  w^ane  away, 
Like  other  lives,  at  least  the  day, 
The  hour  it  lasts  shall,  like  a  fire 
With  incense  fed,  in  sweets  expire. 


ALCIPHRON.  15 


LETTER  II. 


FROM    THE    SAxME    TO    THE    SAME. 

Memphis. 

Tis  true,  alas — the  mysteries  and  the  lore 
came  to  study  on  this  wondrous  shore, 
ire  all  forgotten  in  the  new  delights, 
rhe  strange,  wild  joys  that  fill  my  days  and  nights, 
nstead  of  dark,  dull  oracles  that  speak 
•"rom  subterranean  temples,  those  /seek 
Jome  from  the  breathing  shrines,  where  Beauty  lives, 
\.nd  Love,  her  priest,  the  soft  responses  gives, 
nstead  of  honouring  Isis  in  those  rites 
U  Coptos  held,  I  hail  her,  when  she  lights 
ier  first  young  crescent  on  the  holy  stream — 
Nhen  wandering  youths  and  maidens  watch  her  beam 
^nd  number  o'er  the  nights  she  hath  to  run, 
Sre  she  again  embrace  her  bridegroom  sun. 
^'hile  o'er  some  mystic  leaf,  that  dimly  lends 
V  clue  into  past  times,  the  student  bends, 


16  ALCIPHRON. 

And  by  its  glimmering  guidance  learns  to  tread 
Back  through  the  shadowy  knowledge  of  the  dead, — 
The  only  skill,  alas,  /yet  can  claim 
Lies  in  deciphering  some  new  lov'd-one's  name- 
Some  gentle  missive,  hinting  time  and  place. 
In  language,  soft  as  Memphian  reed  can  trace. 

And  where — oh  where's  the  heart  that  could  withstand 
Th'  unnumbered  witcheries  of  this  sun-born  land, 
Where  first  young  Pleasure's  banner  was  unfurl'd. 
And  Love  hath  temples  ancient  as  the  world  ! 
Where  mystery,  like  the  veil  by  Beauty  worn. 
Hides  but  to  heighten,  shades  but  to  adorn  ; 
And  that  luxurious  melancholy,  born 
Of  passion  and  of  genius,  sheds  a  gloom 
Making  joy  holy  ; — where  the  bower  and  tomb 
Stand  side  by  side,  and  Pleasure  learns  from  Death 
The  instant  value  of  each  moment's  breath. 
Couldst  thou  but  see  how  like  a  poet's  dream 
This  lovely  land  now  looks  ! — the  glorious  stream. 
That  late,  between  its  banks,  was  seen  to  glide 
'Mong  shrines  and  marble  cities,  on  each  side 
Glittering  like  jewels  strung  along  a  chain;^ 
Hath  now  sent  forth  its  waters,  and  o'er  plain 
And  valley,  like  a  giant  from  his  bed 
Rising  with  out-stretch'd  limbs,  hath  grandly  spread. 


ALCIPHRON,  17 

While  far  as  sight  can  reach,  beneath  as  clear 
And  blue  a  heav'n  as  ever  blessM  our  sphere, 
Gardens,  and  pillar'd  streets,  and  porphyry  domes, 
And  high-built  temples,  fit  to  be  the  homes 
Of  mighty  Gods,  and  pyramids,  whose  hour 
Outlasts  all  time,  above  the  waters  tower  ! 

Then,  too,  the  scenes  of  pomp  and  joy,  that  make 
One  theatre  of  this  vast,  peopled  lake, 
Where  all  that  Love,  Religion,  Commerce  gives 
Of  life  and  motion,  ever  moves  and  lives. 
Here,  up  the  steps  of  temples  from  the  wave 
Ascending  in  procession  slow  and  grave. 
Priests  in  white  garments  go,  with  sacred  wands 
And  silver  cymbals  gleaming  in  their  hands; 
While  there,  rich  barks— fresh  from  those  sunny  tracts 
Far  off,  beyond  the  sounding  cataracts — 
Glide,  with  their  precious  lading  to  the  sea. 
Plumes  of  bright  birds,  rhinoceros  ivory. 
Gems  from  the  isle  of  Meroe,  and  those  grains 
Of  gold,  wash'd  down  by  Abyssinian  rains. 
Here,  where  the  waters  wind  into  a  bay 
Shadowy  and  cool,  some  pilgrims,  on  their  way 
To  Sais  or  BubastUv«5,  among  beds 
Of  lotus  flowers,  that  close  above  their  heads. 
Push  their  light  barks,  and  there,  as  in  a  bower. 
Sing,  talk,  or  sleep  away  the  sultry  hour— 
2 


18  ALOIPHRON. 

Oft  dipping  in  the  Nile,  when  faint  with  heat, 
That  leaf,  from  which  its  waters  drink  most  sweet. 
While  haply,  not  far  off,  beneath  a  bank 
Of  blossoming  acacias,  many  a  prank 
Is  played  in  the  cool  current  by  a  train 
Of  laughing  nymphs,  lovely  as  she,*  whose  chain 
Around  two  conquerors  of  the  world  was  cast 
But,  for  a  third  too  feeble,  broke  at  last. 

For  oh,  believe  not  them,  who  dare  to  brand, 
As  poor  in  charms,  the  women  of  this  land. 
Though  darken'd  by  that  sun,  whose  spirit  flows 
Through  every  vein,  and  tinges  as  it  goes, 
'Tis  but  th'  embrowning  of  the  fruit  that  tells 
How  rich  within  the  soul  of  ripeness  dwells, — 
The  hue  their  own  dark  sanctuaries  wear, 
Announcing  heav'n  in  half-caught  glimpses  there. 
And  never  yet  did  tell-tale  looks  set  free 
The  secret  of  young  hearts  more  tenderly. 
Such  eyes  ! — long,  shadowy,  with  that  languid  fall 
Of  the  fring'd  lids,  which  may  be  seen  in  all 
Who  live  beneath  the  sun's  too  ardent  rays — 
Lending  such  looks  as,  on  their  marriage  days 
Young  maids  cast  down  before  a  bridegroom's  gaze  ! 
Then  for  their  grace — mark  but  the  nymph-like  shapes 
Of  the  young  village  girls,  when  carrying  grapes 

*  Cleopatra. 


AI^CIPHROI^.  19 

From  green  Anthylh,  or  light  urns  of  flowers — 
Not  our  own  Sculpture,  in  her  happiest  hours, 
E'er  imag'd  forth,  even  at  the  touch  of  him* 
Whose  touch  was  life,  more  luxury  of  limb  I 
Then,  canst  thou  wonder  if,  mid  scenes  like  these, 
1  should  forget  all  graver  mysteries,, 
All  lore  but  Love's,  all  secrets  but  that  best 
In  heav'n  or  e?irth,  the  art  of  being  blest ! 

Yet  are  there  times,— though  brief,.  I  own,  their  stay, 

Like  summer-clouds  that  shine  themselves  away, — 

Moments  of  gloom.,  when  ev'n  these  pleasures  pall 

Upon  niy  sadd'ning  heart,  and  I  recall 

That  Garden  dream — that  promise  of  a  power. 

Oh  were  there  such  ! — to  lengthen  out  life's  hour 

Oa,  on,  as  through  a  vista,  far  away 

Opening  before  us  into  endless  day  ! 

And  chiefly  o'ei:  my  spirit  did  this  thought, 

Come  on  that  evening — bright  as  ever  brought 

Light's  golden  farewell  to  the  world— when  fii;st 

The  eternal  pyramids  of  Memphis  burst 

Awfally  on  my  sight — standing  sublime 

'Twixt  earth  and  heav'n,  the  watch-towers  of  Time„ 

From  whose  lone  summit,  when  his  reign  hath  past 

From  earth  for  ever,,  he  will  look  his  last ! 

*  Apslles 


20  ALCIPHRON. 

There  hung  a  calm  and  solemn  sunshine  round 

Those  mighty  monuments,  a  hushing  sound 

In  the  still  air  that  circled  them,  which  stole 

Like  music  of  past  times  into  my  soul. 

I  thought  what  myriads  of  the  wise  and  brave 

And  beautiful  had  sunk  into  the  grave. 

Since  earth  first  saw  these  wonders — and  I  said 

"  Are  things  eternal  only  for  the  Dead  ? 

Is  there  for  Man  no  hope — but  this,  which  dooms 

His  only  lasting  trophies  to  be  tombs ! 

But  His  not  so — earth,  heaven,  all  nature  shows 

He  may  become  immortal, — may  unclose 

The  wings  within  him  wrapt,  and  proudly  rise 

Redeem'd  from  earth,  a  creature  of  the  skies  ! 

"  And  who  can  say,  among  the  written  spells 

From  Hermes'  hand,  that,  in  these  shrines  and  cells 

Have,  from  the  Flood,  lay  hid,  there  may  not  be 

Some  secret  clue  to  immortality. 

Some  amulet,  whose  spell  can  keep  life's  fire 

Awake  within  us,  never  to  expire  ! 

'Tis  known  that,  on  the  Emerald  Table,*  hid 

For  ages  in  yon  loftiest  pyramid. 

The  Thrice-Greatf  did  himself,  engrave,  of  old, 

The  chymic  mystery  that  gives  endless  gold. 

*  See  Notes  on  the  Epicurean. 
t  The  Hermes  Trisniegistus. 


ALCIPHRON.  21 

And  why  may  not  this  mightier  secret  dwell 
Within  the  same  dark  chambers  1  who  can  tell 
But  that  those  kings,  who,  by  the  written  skill 
Of  th'  Emerald  Table,  call'd  forth  gold  at  will, 
And  quarries  upon  quarries  heap'd  and  hurl'd, 
To  build  them  domes  that  might  outstand  the  world — 
Who  knows  but  that  the  heavenlier  art,  which  shares 
The  life  of  Gods  with  man,  was  also  theirs — 
That  they  themselves,  triumphant  o'er  the  power 
Of  fate  and  death,  are  living  at  this  hour  ; 
And  these,  the  giant  homes  they  still  possess, 
Not  tombs,  but  everlasting  palaces. 
Within  whose  depths,  hid  from  the  world  above. 
Even  now  they  wander,  with  the  few  they  love, 
Through  subterranean  gardens,  by  a  light 
Unknown  on  earth,  which  hath  nor  dawn  nor  night! 
Else,  why  those  deathless  structures '?  why  the  grand 
And  hidden  halls,  that  undermine  this  land  1 
Why  else  hath  none  of  earth  e'er  dared  to  go 
Through  the  dark  windings  of  that  realm  below, 
Nor  aught  from  heav'n  itself,  except  the  God 
Of  Silence,  through  those  endless  labyrinths  trod?" 

Thus  did  I  dream — wild,  wandering  dreams,  I  own. 
But  such  as  haunt  me  ever,  if  alone. 
Or  in  that  'pause  'twixt  joy  and  joy  I  be. 
Like  a  ship  hush'd  between  two  waves  at  sea. 


28  ALCIPHRON. 

Then  do  these  spirit  whisperings,  like  the  sound 
Of  the  Dark  Future,  come  appalling  round  ; 
Nor  can  I  break  the  trance  that  holds  me  then, 
Till  high  o'er  Pleasure's  surge  I  mount  again  ! 

Ev'n  now  for  new  adventure,  new  delight, 

My  heart  is  on  the  wing — this  very  night, 

The  Temple  on  that  island,  half-way  o'er 

From  Memphis'  gardens  to  the  eastern  shore, 

Sends  up  its  annual  rite*  to  her,  whose  beams 

Bring  the  sweet  time  of  night-flowers  and  dreams  ; 

The  nymph,  who  dips  her  urn  in  silent  lakes, 

And  turns  to  silvery  dew  each  drop  it  takes  ; — 

Oh,  not  our  Dian  of  the  North,  who  chains 

In  vestal  ice  the  current  of  young  veins. 

But  she  who  haunts  the  gay  Bubastianf  grove. 

And  owns  she  sees,  from  her  bright  heav'n  above, 

Nothing  on  earth  to  match  that  heav'n  but  Love. 

Thinks  then,  what  bliss  will  be  abroad  to-night ! 

Beside,  that  host  of  nymphs,  who  meet  the  sight 

Day  after  day,  familiar  as  the  sun. 

Coy  buds  of  beauty,  yet  unbreath'd  upon, 

And  all  the  hidden  loveliness,  that  lies. 

Shut  up,  as  are  the  beams  of  sleeping  eyes, 

*  The  great  Festival  of  the  Moon. 

t  Bubastis,  or  Isis,  was  the  Diana  of  the  Egyptian  mythology. 


ALCIPHROy.  23 

Within  these  twilight  shrines — to-night  will  be, 
Soon  as  the  Moon's  white  bark  in  heav'n  we  see, 
Let  loose,  like  birds,  for  this  festivity  ! 

And  mark,  'tis  nigh ;  already  the  sun  bids 

His  evening  farewell  to  the  Pyramids, 

As  he  hath  done,  age  after  age,  till  they 

Alone  on  earth  seem  ancient  as  his  ray  ; 

While  their  great  shadows,  stretching  from  the  light, 

Look  like  the  first  colossal  steps  of  Night, 

Stretching  across  the  valley,  to  invade 

The  distant  hills  of  porphyry  with  their  shade. 

Around,  as  signals  of  the  setting  beam, 

Gay,  gilded  flags  on  every  housetop  gleam  : 

While,  hark ! — from  all  the  temples  a  rich  swell 

Of  music  to  the  Moon — farewell — farewell. 


24  ALCIPHRON. 


LETTER   III. 


FROM    THE    SAME    TO    THE    SAME. 

Memphis. 

There  is  some  star — or  it  may  be 

That  moon  we  saw  so  near  last  night — 
Which  comes  athwart  my  destiny 

For  ever,  with  misleading  light. 
If  for  a  moment,  pure  and  wise 

And  calm  I  feel,  there  quick  doth  fall 
A  spark  from  some  disturbing  eyes. 
That  through  my  heart,  soul,  being  flies. 

And  makes  a  wildfire  of  it  all. 
I've  seen — oh,  Cleon,  that  this  earth 
Should  e'er  have  giv'n  such  beauty  birth  ! — 
That  man — but,  hold — hear  all  that  pass'd 
Since  yester-night,  from  first  to  last. 

The  rising  of  the  Moon,  calm,  slow, 

And  beautiful,  as  if  she  came 
Fresh  from  the  Elysian  bowers  below. 

Was,  with  a  loud  and  sweet  accla  im 


ALCIPHRON.   •  25 

Welcom'd  from  every  breezy  height, 
Where  crowds  stood  waiting  for  her  light. 
And  well  nnight  they  who  view'd  the  scene 

Then  lit  up  all  around  them,  say, 
That  never  yet  had  Nature  been 

Caught  sleeping  in  a  lovelier  ray, 
Or  rival'd  her  own  noon-tide  face. 
With  purer  show  of  nnoonlight  grace. 

Memphis, — still  grand,  though  not  the  same 

UnrivalPd  Memphis,  that  could  seize 
From  ancient  Thebes  the  crown  of  Fame, 
And  wear  it  bright  through  centuries — 
Now,  in  the  moonshine,  that  came  down 

Like  a  last  smile  upon  that  crown, 
Memphis,  still  grand,  among  her  lakes, 

Her  pyramids  and  shrines  of  fire. 
Rose,  like  a  vision,  that  half  breaks 
On  one  who,  dreaming,  still,  awakes 

To  music  from  some  midnight  choir  : 
While  to  the  west,  where  gradual  sinks 

In  the  red  sands,  from  Libya  roll'd, 
Some  mighty  column,  or  fair  sphynx. 
That  stood,  in  kingly  courts,  of  old. 
It  seem'd  as,  mid  the  pomps  that  shone 
Thus,  gaily  round  him,  Time  look'd  on. 
Waiting  till  all,  now  bright  and  blest, 
Should  fall  beneath  him  like  the  rest. 


26  ALCIPHRON. 

No  sooner  had  the  setting  sun 
ProclaimM  the  festal  rite  begun, 
And,  mid  their  idol's  fullest  beams, 

The  Egyptian  world  was  all  afloat, 
Than  I,  who  live  upon  these  streams, 

Like  a  young  Nile-bird,  turn'd  my  boat 
To  the  fair  island,  on  whose  shores, 
Through  leafy  palms  and  sycamores, 
Already  shone  the  moving  lights 
Of  pilgrims,  hastening  to  the  rites. 
While,  far  around,  like  ruby  sparks 
Upon  the  water,  lighted  barks, 
Of  every  form  and  kind — from  those 

That  down  ISyene's  cataract  shoots, 
To  the  grand,  gilded  barge,  that  rows 

To  sound  of  tambours  and  of  flutes. 
And  wears  at  night,  in  words  of  flame. 
On  the  rich  prow,  its  master's  name  ; — 
All  were  alive,  and  made  this  sea 

Of  cities  busy  as  a  hill 
Of  summer  ants,  caught  suddenly 

In  the  overflowing  of  a  rill. 

Landed  upon  the  isle,  I  soon 
Through  marble  alleys  and  small  groves 
Of  that  mysterious  palm  she  loves, 

Reach'd  the  fair  Temple  of  the  Moon  ; 


ALCIPHRON.  27 

And  there — as  slowly  through  the  last 
Dim-lighted  vestibule  I  pass'd — 
Between  the  porphyry  pillars,  twin'd 

With  palm  and  ivy,  I  could  see 
A  band  of  youthful  maidens  wind,         * 

In  measur'd  walk,  half  dancingly, 
Round  a  small  shrine,  on  which  was  plac'd 

That  bird,*  whose  plumes  of  black  and  white 
Wear  in  their  hue,  by  Nature  trac'd, 

A  type  of  the  moon's  shadow'd  light. 

In  drapery,  like  woven  snow, 

These  nymphs  were  clad,  and  each,  below 

The  rounded  bosom,  loosely  wore 

A  dark  blue  zone,  or  bandelet, 
With  little  silver  stars  all  o'er. 

As  are  the  skies  at  midnight,  set. 
W^hile  in  their  tresses,  braided  through. 

Sparkled  the  flower  of  Egypt's  lakes, 
The  silvery  lotus,  in  whose  hue 

As  much  delight  the  young  Moon  takes, 
As  doth  the  Day-God  to  behold 

The  lofty  bean-flower's  buds  of  gold. 
And,  as  they  gracefully  went  round 

The  worshipp'd  bird,  some  to  the  beat 
Of  castanets,  some  to  the  sound 

Of  the  shrill  sistrum  tim'd  their  feet ; 

*  The  Ibis. 


28 


ALCIPHRON. 


While  others,  at  each  step  they  took, 
A  tinkling  chain  of  silver  shook. 

They  seem'd  all  fair — but  there  was  one 
On  whom  the  light  had  not  yet  shone, 
Or  shone  but  partly — so  downcast 
She  held  her  brow,  as  slow  she  pass'd. 
And  yet  to  me,  there  seemed  to  dwell 

A  charm  about  that  unseen  face — 
A  something,  in  the  shade  that  fell 

Over  that  bi-ow's  imagin'd  grace, 
Which  took  me  more  than  all  the  best 
Outshining  beauties  of  the  rest. 
And  her  alone  ray  eyes  could  see, 
Enchain'd  by  this  sweet  mystery  ; 
And  her  alone  I  watch'd,  as  round 
She  glided  o'er  that  marble  ground, 
Stirring  not  more  th'  unconscious  air 
Than  if  a  Spirit  had  moved  there. 
Till  suddenly,  wide  open  flew. 
The  Temple's  folding  gates,  and  threw 
A  splendour  from  within,  a  flood 
Of  Glory  where  these  maidens  stood. 
While,  with  that  light, — as  if  the  same 
Rich  source  gave  birth  to  both,  there  came 
A  swell  of  harmony,  as  grand 
As  e'er  was  born  of  voice  and  hand. 


ALCIPHRON.  29 

Filling  the  gorgeous  aisles  around 

With  that  mix'd  burst  of  light  and  sound. 

Then  was  it,  by  the  flash  that  blaz'd 

Full  o'er  her  features  —  oh  'twas  then, 
As  startingly  her  eyes  she  rais'd, 

But  quick  let  fall  their  lids  again, 
I  saw — not  Psyche's  self,  when  first 

Upon  the  threshold  of  the  skies. 
She  paus'd,  while  heaven's  glory  burst 

Newly  upon  her  downcast  eyes, 
Could  look  more  beautiful  or  blush 

With  holier  shame  than  did  this  maid, 
Whom  now  I  saw,  in  all  that  gush 

Of  splendour  from  the  aisles,  display'd. 
Never — tho'  well  thou  know'st  how  much 

I've  felt  the  sway  of  Beauty's  star — 
Never  did  her  bright  influence  touch 

My  soul  into  its  depths  so  far ; 
And  had  that  vision  lingered  there 

One  minute  more,  I  should  have  flown, 
Forgetful  who  1  was  and  where, 

And,  at  her  feet  in  worship  thrown, 
ProflTer'd  my  soul  through  life  her  own. 

But,  scarcely  had  that  burst  of  light 
And  music  broke  on  ear  and  sight. 


30  ALCIPHROPf. 

Than  up  the  aisle  the  bird  took  wing", 

As  if  on  heavenly  mission  sent, 
While  after  him,  with  graceful  spring, 

Like  some  unearthly  creatures,  meant 

To  live  in  that  raix'd  element 

Of  light  and  song,  the  young  maids  went ; 
And  she,  who  in  my  heart  had  thrown 
A  spark  to  burn  for  life,  was  flown. 

In  vain  I  tried  to  follow  ; — bands 

Of  reverend  chanters  fill'd  the  aisle  :• 
Where'er  I  sought  to  pass,  their  wands 
Motion'd  me  back,  while  many  a  file 
Of  sacred  nymphs-— but  ah,  not  they 
Whom  my  eyes  look'd  for-^throng'd  the  way. 
Perplex'd,  impatient,  mid  this  crowd 
Of  faces,  lights—^the  o'erwhelming  cloud 
Of  incense  round  me,  and  my  blood 
Full  of  its  new-born  fi.re,^I  stood. 
Nor  mov'd,  nor  breath'd,  but  when  I  caught 

A  glimpse  of  some  blue,  spangled  zone,  ' 
Or  wreath  of  lotus,  which,  I  thought. 

Like  those  s.he  wore  at  distance  shone. 

But  no,  'twas  vain — hour  after  hour. 

Till  my  heart's  throbbing  turn'd  to  pain. 
And  my  strain'd  eyesight  lost  its  power, 
I  sought  her  thus,  but  all  in  vain. 


ALCIPHRON.  31 

At  length,  hot,— wilder'd, — in  despair, 

I  rush'd  into  the  cool  night-air, 

And  hurrying  (though  with  many  a  look 

Back  to  the  busy  Temple)  took 

My  way  along  the  moonlight  shore, 

And  sprung  into  my  boat  once  more. 

There  is  a  Lake,  that  to  the  north 
Of  Memphis  stretches  grandly  forth, 
Upon  whose  silent  shore  the  Dead 

Have  a  proud  City  of  their  own,* 
With  shrines  and  pyramids  o'erspread,— - 
Where  many  an  ancient  kingly  head 

Slumbers,  immortaliz'd  in  stone  ; 
And  where,  through  marble  grots  beneath. 

The  lifeless,  rang'd  like  sacred  things, 
Nor  wanting  aught  of  life  but  breath, 

Lie  in  their  painted  coverings, 
And  on  each  new  successive  race, 

That  visit  their  dim  haunts  below, 
Look  with  the  same  unwithering  face. 

They  wore  three  thousand  years  ago. 
There,  Silence,  thoughtful  God,  who  loves 
The  neighbourhood  of  death,  in  groves 
Of  asphodel  lies  hid,  and  weaves 
His  hushing  spell  among  the  leaves, — 

'  Necropolis,  or  the  City  of  the  Dead,  to  the  south  of  Memphis. 


32  ALCIPHRON. 

Nor  ever  noise  disturbs  the  air, 
Save  the  low,  humming,  mournful  sound 

Of  priests,  within  their  shrines,  at  prayer 
For  the  fresh  Dead  entomb'd  around. 

'Twas  tow'rd  this  place  of  death — in  mood 

Made  up  of  thoughts,  half  bright,  half  dark- 
I  now  across  the  shining  flood 

Unconscious  turn'd  my  light-wing'd  bark. 
The  form  of  that  young  maid,  in  all 

Its  beauty,  was  before  me  still ; 
And  oft  I  thought,  if  thus  to  call 
Her  image  to  my  mind  at  will, 
If  but  the  memory  of  that  one 
Bright  look  of  hers,  for  ever  gone, 
Was  to  my  heart  worth  all  the  rest 
Of  woman-kind,  beheld,  possest — 
What  would  it  be,  if  wholly  mine, 
Within  these  arms,  as  in  a  shrine, 
Hallow'd  by  Love,  I  saw  her  shine, 
An  idol,  worshipp'd  by  the  light 
Of  her  own  beauties,  day  and  night — 
If 'twas  a  blessing  but  to  see 
And  lose  again,  what  would  this  be  ? 

In  thoughts  like  these — but  often  crost 
By  darker  threads — my  mind  was  lost, 


ALCIPHRON.  33 

Till,  near  that  City  of  the  Dead, 

Wak'd  from  my  trance,  I  saw  o'erhead — 

As  if  by  some  enchanter  bid 

Suddenly  from  the  wave  to  rise — 
Pyramid  over  pyramid 

Tower  in  succession  to  the  skies  ; 
While  one,  aspiring,  as  if  soon 

'Twould  touch  the  heavens,  rose  o'er  all ; 
And,  on  its  summit,  the  white  moon 

Rested,  as  on  a  pedestal ! 

The  silence  of  the  lonely  tombs 

And  temples  round,  where  nought  was  heard 
But  the  high  palm-tree's  tufted  plumes, 

Shaken,  at  times,  by  breeze  or  bird, 
Form'd  a  deep  contrast  to  the  scene 
Of  revel,  where  I  late  had  been  ; 
To  those  gay  sounds,  that  still  came  o'er, 
Faintly,  from  many  a  distant  shore, 
And  th'  unnumber'd  lights,  that  shone 
Far  o'er  the  flood,  from  Memphis  on 
To  the  Moon's  Isle  and  Babylon. 

My  oars  were  lifted,  and  my  boat 
Lay  rock'd  upon  the  rippling  stream  ; 

While  my  vague  thoughts,  alike  afloat, 
Drifted  through  many  an  idle  dream, 
3 


34  ALCIPHRON^. 

With  all  of  which,  wild  and  unfix'd 
As  was  their  aim,  that  vision  mix'd. 
That  bright  nymph  of  the  Temple — now 
With  the  same  innocence  of  brow 
She  wore  within  the  lighted  fane, — 
Now  kindling,  through  each  pulse  and  vein 
With  passion  of  such  deep-felt  fire 
As  Gods  might  glory  to  inspire ; — 
And  now — oh  Darkness  of  the  tomb, 

That  must  eclipse  ev'n  light  like  hers  ! 
Cold,  dead,  and  blackening  mid  the  gloom 

Of  those  eternal  sepulchres. 

Scarce  had  I  turn'd  my  eyes  away 

From  that  dark  death-place,  at  the  thought, 
When  by  the  sound  of  dashing  spray 

From  a  light  oar  my  ear  was  caught, 
While  past  me,  through  the  moonlight,  sail'd 

A  little  gilded  bark,  that  bore 
Two  female  figures,  closely  veil'd 

And  mantled,  towards  that  funeral  shore. 
They  landed — and  the  boat  again 
Put  off' across  the  watery  plain. 

Shall  I  confess — to  thee  I  may — 

That  never  yet  hath  come  the  chance 

If  a  new  music,  a  new  ray 
From  woman's  v(  ice,  from  woman's  glance, 


ALCIPHRON.  35 

Which — let  it  find  me  how  it  might, 

In  joy  or  grief— I  did  not  bless, 
And  wander  after,  as  a  light 

Leading  to  undreamt  happiness. 
And  chiefly  now,  when  hopes  so  vain 
Were  stirring  in  my  heart  and  brain, 
When  Fancy  had  allur'd  my  soul 

Into  a  chase,  as  vague  and  far 
As  would  be  his,  who  fix'd  his  goal 

In  the  horizon,  or  some  star— 
Any  bewilderment,  that  brought 
More  near  to  earth  my  high-flown  thought—!- 
The  faintest  glimpse  of  joy,  less  pure, 
Less  high  and  heavenly,  but  more  sure. 
Came  welcome — and  was  then  to  me 
What  the  first  flowery  isle  must  be 
To  vagrant  birds,  blown  out  to  sea. 

Quick  to  the  shore  I  urged  my  bark. 

And,  by  the  bursts  of  moonlight,  shed 
Between  the  lofty  tombs,  could  mark 

Those  figures,  as  with  hasty  tread 
They  glided  on-— till  in  the  shade 

Of  a  small  pyramid,  which  through 
Some  boughs  of  palm  its  peak  display'd, 

They  vanish'd  instant  from  my  view. 


30  ALCIPHRON. 

I  hurried  to  the  spot — no  trace 
Of  life  was  in  that  lonely  place ; 
And,  had  the  creed  I  hold  by  taught 
Of  other  worlds,  I  might  have  thought 
Some  mocking  spirits  had  from  thence 
Come  in  this  guise  to  cheat  my  sense. 

At  length,  exploring  darkly  round 
The  Pyramid's  smooth  sides,  I  found 
An  iron  portal, — opening  high 

'  Twixt  peak  and  base — and,  with  a  pray'r 
To  the  bliss-loving  moon,  whose  eye 

Alone  beheld  me,  sprung  in  there. 
Downward  the  narrow  stairway  led 
Through  many  a  duct  obscure  and  dread, 

A  labyrinth  for  mystery  made, 
With  wanderings  onward,  backward,  round, 
And  gathering  still,  where'er  it  wound, 

But  deeper  density  of  shade. 

Scarce  had  I  ask'd  myself  "  Can  aught 

That  man  delights  in  sojourn  here  ?" — 
When,  suddenly,  far  off,  I  caught 

A  glimpse  of  light,  remote,  but  clear, — 
Whose  welcome  glimmer  seem'd  to  pour 

From  some  alcove  or  cell,  that  ended 
The  long,  steep,  marble  corridor, 

Through  which  I  now,  all  hope,  descended. 


ALCIPHRON.  37 

Never  did  Spartan  to  his  bride 
With  warier  foot  at  midnight  glide, 
It  seem'd  as  echo's  self  were  dead 
In  this  dark  place,  so  mute  my  tread, 
Reaching,  at  length,  that  light,  I  saw — 

Oh  listen  to  the  scene,  now  raised 
Before  my  eyes — then  guess  the  awe, 

The  still,  rapt  awe  with  which  I  gazed. 
'Twas  a  small  chapel,  lin'd  around 
With  the  fair,  spangling  marble,  found 
In  many  a  ruin'd  shrine  that  stands 
Half  seen  above  the  Libyan  sands. 
The  walls  were  richly  sculptur'd  o'er, 
And  character'd  with  that  dark  lore 
Of  times  before  the  Flood,  whose  key 
Was  lost  in  th'  »  Universal  Sea,' — 
While  on  the  roof  was  pictured  bright 

The  Theban  beetle,  as  he  shines. 

When  the  Nile's  mighty  flow  declines, 
And  forth  the  creature  springs  to  light, 
With  life  regenerate  in  his  wings  : 
Emblem  of  vain  imaginings  ! 
Of  a  new  world,  when  this  is  gone. 
In  which  the  spirit  still  lives  on  ! 

Direct  beneath  this  type,  reclin'd 
On  a  black  granite  altar,  lay 


ALCIPHRON. 

A  female  form,  in  crystal  shrin'd, 
And  looking  fresh  as  if  the  ray 
Of  soul  had  fled  but  yesterday, 

While  in  relief,  of  silvery  hue. 

Graved  on  the  altar's  front  were  seen 

A  branch  of  lotus,  brok'n  in  two, 
As  that  fair  creature's  life  had  been, 

And  a  small  bird  that  from  its  spray 

Was  winging,  like  her  soul,  away. 

But  brief  the  glimpse  I  now  could  spare 

To  the  wild,  mystic  wonders  round  ; 
For  there  was  yet  one  wonder  there. 

That  held  me  as  by  witchery  bound. 
The  lamp,  that  through  the  chamber  shed 
Its  vivid  beam,  was  at  the  head 
Of  her  who  on  that  altar  slept ; 

And  near  it  stood,  when  first  I  came, — 
Bending  her  brow,  as  if  she  kept 

Sad  watch  upon  its  silent  flame — 
A  female  form,  as  yet  so  plac'd 

Between  the  lamp's  strong  glow  and  me, 
That  I  but  saw,  in  outline  trac'd, 

The  shadow  of  her  symmetry. 
Yet  did  my  heart — I  scarce  knew  why — 
Ev'n  at  that  shadow'd  shape  beat  high. 


ALCIPHRON. 

Nor  long  was  it,  ere  full  in  sight 
The  figure  turn'd ;  and,  by  the  light 
That  touch'd  her  features,  as  she  bent, 
Over  the  crystal  monument, 
I  saw  'twas  she — the  same — the  same — 

That  lately  stood  before  me — bright' ning 
The  holy  spot,  where  she  but  came 
And  went  again,  like  summer  lightning  ! 

Upon  the  crystal,  o'er  the  breast 
Of  her  who  took  that  silent  rest, 
There  was  a  cross  of  silver  lying — 

Another  type  of  that  blest  home, 
Which  hope,  and  pride,  and  fear  of  dying 

Build  for  us  in  a  world  to  come  : — 
This  silver  cross  the  maiden  rais'd 
To  her  pure  lips ; — then,  having  gazed 
Some  minutes  on  that  tranquil  face, 
Sleeping  in  all  death's  mournful  grace. 
Upward  she  turn'd  her  brow  serene. 

As  if,  intent  on  heaven,  those  eyes 
Saw  then  nor  roof  nor  cloud  between 

Their  own  pure  orbits  and  the  skies  ; 
And,  though  her  lips  no  motion  made, 

And  that  fix'd  look  was  all  her  speech, 
I  saw  that  the  rapt  spirit  prayed 
Deeper  within  than  words  could  reach. 


40  ALCIPHRON. 

Strange  pow'r  of  Innocence,  to  turn 

To  its  own  hue  whate'er  comes  near; 
And  make  even  vagrant  Passion  burn 

With  purer  warmth  within  its  sphere  ! 
She  who,  but  one  short  hour  before, 
Had  come,  like  sudden  wild-fire,  o'er 
My  heart  and  brain, — whom  gladly,  even 

From  that  bright  Temple,  in  the  face 
Of  those  proud  ministers  of  heaven, 

I  would  have  borne,  in  wild  embrace. 
And  risk'd  all  punishment,  divine 
And  human,  but  to  make  her  mine ; — 
That  maid  was  now  before  me,  thrown 

By  fate  itself  into  my  arms — 
There  standing,  beautiful,  alone, 

With  nought  to  guard  her,  but  her  charms. 
Yet  did  I — oh  did  ev'n  a  breath 

From  my  parch'd  lips,  too  parch'd  to  move. 
Disturb  a  scene  where  thus,  beneath 

Earth's  silent  covering,  Youth  and  Death 

Held  converse  through  undying  love  1 
No — smile  and  taunt  me  as  thou  wilt — 

Though  but  to  gaze  thus  was  delight, 
Yet  seemM  it  like  a  wrong,  a  guilt. 

To  win  by  stealth  so  pure  a  sight ; 
And  rather  than  a  look  profane 


ALCIPHRON.  41 

Should  then  have  met  those  thoughtful  eyes, 
Or  voice,  or  whisper  broke  the  chain 

That  link'd  her  spirit  with  the  skies, 
I  would  have  gladly,  in  that  place, 
From  which  I  watch'd  her  heav'n-ward  face. 
Let  my  heart  break,  without  one  beat 
That  could  disturb  a  prayer  so  sweet. 

Gently,  as  if  on  every  tread. 
My  life,  my  more  than  life  depended. 

Back  through  the  corridor  that  led 
To  this  blest  scene  I  now  ascended. 

And  with  slow  seeking,  and  some  pain. 

And  many  a  winding  tried  in  vain, 

Emerg'd  to  upper  air  again. 

The  sun  had  freshly  ris'n,  and  down 

The  marble  hills  of  Araby, 
Scatter'd,  as  from  a  conqueror's  crown. 

His  beams  into  that  living  sea. 
There  seem'd  a  glory  in  his  light, 

Newly  put  on — as  if  for  pride 
Of  the  high  homage  paid  this  night 

To  his  own  Isis,  his  young  bride, 
Now  fading  feminine  away 
In  her  proud  Lord's  superior  ray. 


42  ALCIPHRON. 

My  mind's  first  impulse  was  to  fly 
At  once  from  this  entangling  net — 

New  scenes  to  range,  new  loves  to  try, 

Or,  in  mirth,  wine,  and  luxury 
Of  every  sense,  that  night  forget. 

But  vain  the  effort — spell-bound  still, 

I  linger'd,  without  power  or  will 

To  turn  my  eyes  from  that  dark  door, 

Which  now  enclos'd  her  'mong  the  dead ; 
Oft  fancying,  through  the  boughs,  that  o'er 
The  sunny  pile  their  flickering  shed, 

'Twas  her  light  form  again  I  saw 

Starting  to  earth — still  pure  and  bright. 

But  wakening,  as  I  hop'd,  less  awe, 
Thus  seen  by  morning's  natural  light, 
Than  in  that  strange,  dim  cell  at  night. 

But  no,  alas, — she  ne'er  return'd  : 

Nor  yet — tho'  still  I  watch — nor  yet, 
Though  the  red  sun  for  hours  hath  burn'd. 

And  now,  in  his  mid  course,  had  met 
The  peak  of  that  eternal  pile 

He  pauses  still  at  noon  to  bless. 
Standing  beneath  his  downward  smile, 

Like  a  great  Spirit,  shadowless  ! 
Nor  yet  she  comes — while  here,  alone, 

Saunt'ring  through  this  death-peopled  place, 


ALCIPHRON.  43 

Where  no  heart  beats  except  my  own, 
Or  'neath  a  palm-tree's  shelter  thrown, 
By  turns  I  watch,  and  rest,  and  trace 
These  lines,  that  are  to  waft  to  thee 
My  last  night's  wondrous  history. 

Dost  thou  remember,  in  that  Isle 

Of  our  own  Sea,  where  thou  and  I 
Linger'd  so  long,  so  happy  a  while. 

Till  all  the  summer  flowers  went  by — 
How  gay  it  was  when  sunset  brought 

To  the  cool  Well  our  favourite  maids-— 
Some  we  had  won,  and  some  we  sought — 

To  dance  within  the  fragrant  shades, 
And,  till  the  stars  went  down,  attune 
Their  Fountain  Hymns*  to  the  young  moon  1 

That  time,  too — oh,  'tis  like  a  dream — 

When  from  Scamander's  holy  tide 
I  sprung,  as  Genius  of  the  Stream, 

And  bore  away  that  blooming  bride. 
Who  thither  came,  to  yield  her  charms 

(As  Phrygian  maids  are  wont,  ere  wed) 
Into  the  cold  Scamander's  arms, 

But  met,  and  welcom'd  mine,  instead  — 

*  These  Songs  of  the  Well,  as  they  were  called  by  the  ancients, 
are  still  common  in  the  Greek  isles. 


44  ALCIPHRON. 

Wondering,  as  on  my  neck  she  fell, 
How  river-gods  could  love  so  well ! 
Who  would  have  thought  that  he,  who  rov'd 

Like  the  first  bees  of  summer  then. 
Rifling  each  sweet,  nor  ever  lov'd 

But  the  free  hearts,  that  lov'd  again. 
Readily  as  the  reed  replies 
To  the  last  breath  that  round  it  sighs — 
Is  the  same  dreamer  who,  last  night. 
Stood  aw'd  and  breathless  at  the  sight 
Of  one  Egyptian  girl ;  and  now 
Wanders  among  these  tombs,  with  brow 
Pale,  watchful,  sad,  as  tho'  he  just. 
Himself,  had  ris'n  from  out  their  dust ! 

Yet,  so  it  is — and  the  same  thirst 

For  something  high  and  pure,  above 
This  withering  world,  which,  from  the  first. 

Made  me  drink  deep  of  woman's  love, — 
As  the  one  joy,  to  heav'n  most  near 
Of  all  our  hearts  can  meet  with  here, — 
Still  burns  me  up,  still  keeps  awake 
A  fever  nought  but  death  can  slake. 

Farewell ;  whatever  may  befall, — 
Or  bright,  or  dark — thou'It  know  it  all 


ALCIPHRON.  45 


LETTER   IV. 


PROM    THE    SAME    TO    THE    SAME. 

Wonders  on  wonders  ;  sights  that  lie 

Where  never  sun  gave  flow'ret  birth  ; 
Bright  marvels,  hid  from  th'  upper  sky, 
And  myst'ries  that  are  born  and  die 

Deep  in  the  very  heart  of  earth  ! — 
All  that  the  ancient  Orpheus,  led 

By  courage  that  Love  only  gives, 
Dar'd  for  a  matchless  idol,  dead, 

I've  seen  and  dar'd  for  one  who  lives. 

Again  the  moon  was  up,  and  found 
The  echoes  of  my  feet  still  round 
The  monuments  of  this  lone  place  ; — 

Or  saw  me,  if  awhile  my  lid 
Yielded  to  sleep,  stretch'd  at  the  base 

Of  that  now  precious  Pyramid, 
In  slumber  that  the  gentlest  stir. 
The  stillest,  air-like  step  of  her, 
Whom  ev'n  in  sleep  I  watch'd,  could  chase. 
And  then,  such  various  forms  she  seem'd 
To  wear  before  me,  as  I  dream'd  ! — 


46  ALCIPHRON. 

Now,  like  Neitha,  on  her  throne 

At  Sais,  all  reveal'd  she  shone, 

With  that  dread  veil  thrown  off  her  brow, 

Which  mortal  never  rais'd  till  now  ;* 

Then,  quickly  changM,  methought  'twas  she 

Of  whom  the  Memphian  boatmen  tells 
Such  wondrous  tales — fair  Rhodope, 

The  subterranean  nymph,  that  dwells 
Mid  sunless  gems  and  glories  hid. 
The  Lady  of  the  Pyramid  I 

At  length,  from  one  of  these  short  dreams 
Starting — as  if  the  subtile  beams. 
Then  playing  o'er  my  brow,  had  brought 
Some  sudden  light  into  my  thought — 
Down  for  my  boat-lamp  to  the  shore, 

Where  still  it  palely  burn'd,  I  went; 
Resolv'd  that  night  to  try  once  more 

The  mystery  of  this  monument. 

Thus  arm'd,  I  scarce  had  reach'd  the  gate. 
When  a  loud  screaming — like  the  cry 

Of  some  wild  creature  to  its  mate — 
Came  startling  from  the  palm-grove  nigh  ;■— 


*  See,  for  tha  veil  of  Neitha,  the  inscription  upon  her  temple,  as 
given  by  Plutarch,  de  Is.  et  Osir. 


ALCIPHRON.  47 

Or,  whether  haply  'twas  the  creak 

Of  those  Lethaean  portals,*  said 
To  cive  thus  out  a  mournful  shriek, 

When  oped  at  midnight  for  the  dead. 
Whate'er  it  was,  the  sound  came  o'er 

My  heart  like  ice,  as  through  the  door 
Of  the  small  Pyramid  I  went, 
And  down  the  same  abrupt  descent, 
And  through  long  windings,  as  before, 
Reach'd  the  steep  marble  corridor. 

Trembling  I  stole  along — the  light 
In  the  lone  chapel  still  burn'd  on  ; 

But  she,  for  whom  my  soul  and  sight 

Look'd  with  a  thirst  so  keen,  was  gone, — 

By  some  invisible  path  had  fled 

Into  that  gloom,  and  leaving  the  Dead 

To  its  own  solitary  rest, 

Of  all  lone  things  the  loneliest. 

As  still  the  cross,  which  she  had  kist, 

Was  lying  on  ihe  crystal  shrine, 
I  took  it  up,  nor  could  resist 

(Though  the  dead  eyes,  I  thought,  met  mine) 


*  The  brazen  portals  at  Memphis,  mentioned  by  Zoega,  called 
the  Gates  of  Oblivion. 


48  ALCIPHRON. 

Kissing-  it  too,  while,  half  ashamed 
Of  that  mute  presence,  I  exclaimed, 
"  Oh  Life  to  Come,  if  in  thy  sphere 

Love,  Woman's  love,  our  heav'n  could  be, 
Who  would  not  ev'n  forego  it  here, 

To  taste  it  there  eternally  T' 
Hopeless,  yet  with  unwilling  pace. 
Leaving  the  spot,  I  turn'd  to  trace 
My  pathway  back,  when,  to  the  right, 
I  could  perceive,  by  my  lamp's  light. 
That  the  long  corridor  which,  viewed 

Through  distance  dim,  had  seem'd  to  end 
Abruptly  here,  still  on  pursued 

Its  sinuous  course,  with  snake-like  bend 
Mocking  the  eye,  as  down  it  wound 
Still  deeper  through  that  dark  profound. 

Again,  my  hopes  were  rais'd,  and,  fast 
As  the  dim  lamp-light  would  allow. 
Along  that  new-found  path  I  past. 

Through  countless  turns  ;  descending  now 
By  narrow  ducts,  now,  up  again. 
Mid  columns,  in  whose  date  the  chain 
Of  time  is  lost :  and  thence  along 
Cold  halls,  in  which  a  sapless  throng 
Of  Dead  stood  up,  with  glassy  eye 
Meeting  my  gaze,  as  I  went  by. — 


ALCIPHRON.  49 

Till,  lost  among  these  winding  ways, 

Coird  round  and  round,  like  serpents'  folds, 
I  thought  myself  in  that  dim  maze 

Down  under  Mceris'  Lake,  which  holds 
The  hidden  wealth  of  the  Twelve  Kings, 
Safe  from  all  human  visitings. 
At  length,  the  path  clos'd  suddenly ; 

And,  by  my  lamp,  whose  glimmering  fell 
Now  faint  and  fainter,  I  could  see 

Nought  but  the  mouth  of  a  huge  well. 
Gaping  athwart  my  onward  track, — 
A  reservoir  of  darkness,  black 
As  witches'  caldrons  are,  when  filled 
With  moon-drugs  in  th'  eclipse  distill'd. 
Leaning  to  look  if  foot  might  pass 
Down  through  that  chasm,  I  saw,  beneath, 

As  far  as  vision  could  explore, 
The  jetty  sides  all  smooth  as  glass. 

Looking  as  if  just  varnish'd  o'er 
With  that  dark  pitch  the  Sea  of  Death 
Throws  out  upon  its  slimy  shore. 

Doubting  awhile  ;  yet  loth  to  leave 
Aught  unexplor'd,  the  chasm  I  tried 

With  nearer  search ;  and  could  perceive 
Aa  iron  step  that  from  the  side 
4 


50  ALCIPHRON. 

Stood  dimly  out ;  while,  lower  still, 

Another  ranged,  less  visible, 

But  aptly  plac'd,  as  if  to  aid  ' 

Th'  adventurous  foot,  that  dar'd  the  shade. 

Though  hardly  I  could  deem  that  e'er 

Weak  woman's  foot  had  ventured  there, 

Yet,  urged  along  by  the  wild  heat 

That  can  do  all  things  but  retreat, 

I  placed  my  lamp, — which  for  such  task 

Was  aptly  shaped,  like  cap  or  casque 

To  fit  the  brow, — firm  on  my  head. 

And  down  into  the  darkness  went ; 
Still  finding  for  my  cautious  tread 

New  foot-hold  in  that  deep  descent, 
Which  seem'd  as  tho'  'twould  thus  descend 
In  depth  and  darkness  without  end. 
At  length,  this  step-way  ceas'd  ;  in  vain 
I  sought  some  hold,  that  would  sustain 
My  down-stretch'd  foot — the  polish'd  side. 
Slippery  and  hard,  all  help  denied  : 
Till,  as  I  bow'd  my  lamp  around. 

To  let  its  now  faint  glimmer  fall 
On  every  side,  wuth  joy  I  found 

Just  near  me,  in  the  shining  wall, 
A  window  (which  had  'scap'd  my  view 
In  that  half  shadow)  and  sprung  through. 


ALCIPHRON.  61 

'Twas  downward  still,  but  far  less  rude— - 

By  stairs  that  through  the  live  rock  wound 

In  narrow  spiral  round  and  round, 
Whose  giddy  sweep  my  foot  pursued 
Till,  lo,  before  a  gate  I  stood, 
Which  opened,  I  saw,  into  the  same 
Deep  well,  from  whence  but  now  I  came. 
The  doors  were  iron,  yet  gave  way 
Lightly  before  me,  as  the  spray 
Of  a  young  lime-tree,  that  receives 
Some  wandering  bird  among  its  leaves. 
But,  soon  as  I  had  passed,  the  din, 

Th'  o'erwhelming  din,  with  which  agaia 
They  clash'd  their  folds,  and  closed  me  in, 

Was  such  as  seldom  sky  or  main, 
Or  heaving  earth,  or  all,  when  met 

.  In  angriest  strife,  e'er  equalled  yet. 
It  seem'd  as  if  the  ponderous  sound 

Was  by  a  thousand  echoes  hurl'd 
From  one  to  th'  other,  through  the  round 

Of  this  great  subterranean  world. 
Till,  far  as  from  the  catacombs 
Of  Alexandria  to  the  Tombs 
In  ancient  Thebes's  Valley  of  Kings, 
Rung  its  tremendous  thunderings. 


52  ALCIPHRON. 

Yet  could  not  ev'n  this  rude  surprise, 

Which  well  might  move  far  bolder  men, 
One  instant  turn  my  charmed  eyes 

From  the  blest  scene  that  hail'd  them  then. 
As  I  had  rightly  deem'd,  the  place 
Where  now  I  stood  was  the  well's  base, 
The  bottom  of  the  chasm  ;  and  bright 

Before  me,  through  the  massy  bars 
Of  a  huge  gate,  there  came  a  light 

Soft,  warm,  and  welcome,  as  the  stairs 
Of  his  own  South  are  to  the  sight 
Of  one,  who,  from  his  sunny  home, 
To  the  chill  North  had  dar'd  to  roam. 

And  oh  the  scene,  now  opening  through 

Those  bars  that  all  but  sight  denied  ! — 
A  long,  fair  alley,  far  as  view 

Could  reach  away,  along  whose  side 
Went,  lessening  to  the  end,  a  row 

Of  rich  arcades,  that,  from  between 
Their  glistening  pillars,  sent  a  glow 

Of  countless  lamps,  burning  unseen, 
And  that  still  air,  as  from  a  spring 
Of  hidden  light,  illumining. 
While — soon  as  the  wild  echoes  rousM 
Fiom  their  deep  haunts  again  were  housM,— 


ALCIPHROy.  53 

I  heard  a  strain  of  holy  songr 

Breathing  from  out  the  bright  arcades 
Into  that  silence — where,  among 

The  high  sweet  voices  of  young  maids, 
Which,  like  the  small  and  heav'n-ward  spire 

Of  Christian  temples,  crown'd  the  choir, 
I  fancied,  (such  the  fancy's  sway) 

Though  never  yet  my  ear  had  caught 
Sound  from  her  lips — yet,  in  that  lay 

So  worthy  of  her  looks,  methought 
That  maiden's  voice  I  heard,  o'er  all 

Most  high  and  heavenly, — to  my  ear  ^ 

Sounding  distinctly,  like  the  call 

Of  a  far  spirit  from  its  sphere. 

But  vain  the  call — that  stubborn  gate 

Like  destiny,  all  force  defied. 
Anxious  I  look'd  around — and,  straight, 

An  opening  to  the  left  descried. 
Which,  though  like  hell's  own  mouth  it  seem'd, 
Yet  led,  as  by  its  course  I  deem'd,     . 
Parallel  with  those  lighted  ways, 
That  'cross  the  alley  pour'd  their  blaze. 
Eager  I  stoop'd,  thi.s  path  to  tread. 
When,  suddenly,  the  wall  o'er-head 
Grew  with  a  fitful  lustre  bright, 
Which,  settling  gradual  on  the  sight 


54  ALCIPHRON. 

Into  clear  characters  of  light, 

These  words  on  its  dark  ground  I  read.- 

"You,  who  would  try 
This  terrible  track, 
To  live,  or  to  die, 
But  ne'er  to  look  back  ; 

"  You,  who  aspire 
To  be  purified  there 
By  the  terrors  of  Fire 
And  Water  and  Air ; 

"  If  danger  and  pain 

And  death  you  despise — 
On — for  again 
Into  light  you  may  rise, — 

"  Rise  into  light 

With  that  Secret  Divine 
Now  shrouded  from  sight 
By  the  Veils  of  the  Shrine  ! 


"Butif- 


The  words  here  dimm'd  away, 
Till,  lost  in  darkness,  vague  and  dread, 


ALCIPHRON.  55 

Their  very  silence  seem'd  to  say 
Awfuller  things  than  words  e'er  said. 

*'  Am  I  then  in  the  path,"  I  cried, 

"  To  the  Great  Mystery  ?  shall  I  see, 
And  touch, — perhaps,  ev'n  draw  aside 
Those  venerable  veils,  which  hide 

The  secret  of  Eternity  !" 
This  thought  at  once  reviv'd  the  zeal. 

The  thirst  for  Egypt's  hidden  lore 
Which  I  had  almost  ceas'd  to  feel,  * 

In  the  new  dreams  that  won  me  o'er. 
For  now — oh  happiness  ! — it  seem'd 
As  [(both  hopes  before  me  beam'd — 
As  if  that  spirit-nymph,  whose  tread 

I  trac'd  down  hither  from  above. 
To  more  than  one  sweet  treasure  led — 
Lighting  me  to  the  fountain-head 

Of  Knowledge  by  the  star  of  Love. 

Instant  I  enter'd — though  the  ray 

Of  my  spent  lamp  was  near  its  last, — 

And  quick  through  many  a  channel-way, 
Ev'n  ruder  than  the  former,  pass'd  ; 

Till,  just  as  sunk  the  farewell  spark, 

1  spied  before  me,  through  the  dark, 


56  ALCIPHROiY. 

A  paly  fire,  that  moment  raised, 
Which  still  as  I  approached  it,  blazed 
With  stronger  light,— till,  as  I  came 
More  near,  I  saw  my  pathway  led 
Between  two  hedges  of  live  flame, — 

Trees  all  on  fire,  whose  branches  shed 
A  glow  that,  without  noise  or  smoke. 

Yet  strong  as  from  a  furnace,  broke ; 
While  o'er  the  glaring  ground  between, 
Where  my  sole,  onward  path  was  seen. 
Hot  iron  bars,  red  as  with  ire. 

Transversely  lay — such  as,  they  tell. 
Compose  that  trellis-work  of  fire, 
Through  which  the  Doom'd  look  out  in  hell. 

To  linger  there  was  to  be  lost — 
More  and  still  more  the  burning  trees 

ClosM  o'er  the  path  ;  and  as  I  crost — 
With  tremour  both  in  heart  and  knees — 

Fixing  my  foot  where'er  a  space 

'Twixt  the  red  bars  gave  resting-place. 

Above  me,  each  quick  burning  tree, 

Tamarind,  Balm  of  Araby, 

And  Egypt's  Thorn  combined  to  spread 

A  roof  of  fire  above  my  head. 

Yet  safe — or  with  but  harmless  scorch — 
I  trod  the  flaming  ordeal  through  ; 


ALCIPHROIV.  57 

And  promptly  seizing,  as  a  torch 

To  light  me  on  to  dangers  new, 
A  fallen  bough  that  kindling  lay- 
Across  the  path,  pursued  my  way. 

Nor  went  I  far  before  the  sound 

Of  downward  torrents  struck  my  ear; 
And,  by  my  torch's  gleam,  I  found 
That  the  dark  space  which  yawn'd  around, 

Was  a  wide  cavern,  far  and  near 
Fill'd  with  dark  w^aters,  that  went  by 
Turbid  and  quick,  as  if  from  high 
They  late  had  dash'd  down  furiously; 
Or,  awfuller,  had  yet  that  doom 
Before  them,  in  the  untried  gloom. 
No  pass  appeared  on  either  side  ; 

And  tho'  my  torch  too  feebly  shone 
To  show  what  scowl'd  beyond  the  tide, 

I  saw  but  one  way  left  me — on  ! 
So,  plunging  in,  with  my  right  hand 

The  current's  rush  I  scarce  withstood, 
While,  in  my  left,  the  failing  brand 

Shook  its  last  glimmer  o'er  the  flood. 
'Twas  a  long  struggle — oft  I  thought, 
That,  in  that  whirl  of  waters  caught, 
I  must  have  gone,  too  weak  for  strife, 

Down,  headlong,  at  the  cataract's  will — 


58  ALCIPHRON. 

Sad  fate  for  one,  with  heart  and  life 

And  all  youth's  sunshine  round  him  still ! 
But,  ere  my  torch  was  wholly  spent, 

I  saw, — outstretching  from  the  shade 
Into  those  waters,  as  if  meant 

To  lend  the  drowning  struggler  aid — 

A  slender,  double  balustrade, 
With  snow-white  steps  between,  ascending 

From  the  grim  surface  of  the  stream. 
Far  up  as  eye  could  reach,  and  ending 

In  darkness  there,  like  a  lost  dream. 
That  glimpse — for  'twas  no  longer — gave 

New  spirit  to  my  strength  ;  and  now, 
With  both  arms  combating  the  wave, 

I  rush'd  on  blindly,  till  my  brow 
Struck  on  that  railway's  lowest  stair ; 
When,  gathering  courage  from  despair, 
I  made  one  bold  and  fearful  bound. 
And  on  the  step  firm  footing  found. 

But  short  that  hope — for,  as  I  flew 
Breathlessly  up,  the  stairway  grew 
Tremulous  under  me,  while  each 
Frail  step,  ere  scarce  my  foot  could  reach 
The  frailer  yet  I  next  must  trust. 
Crumbled  behind  me  into  dust ; 
Leaving  me,  as  it  crush'd  beneath. 

Like  shipwreck'd  wretch  who,  in  dismay. 


ALCIPHROPf.  59 

Sees  but  one  plank  'twixt  him  and  death, 

And  shuddering  feels  that  one  give  way  ! 
And  still  I  upward  went — with  nought 

Beneath  me  but  that  depth  of  shade, 
And  the  dark  flood,  from  whence  I  caught 

Each  sound  the  falling  fragments  made. 
Was  it  not  fearful  1 — still  more  frail 

At  every  step  crash'd  the  light  stair, 
While,  as  I  mounted,  ev'n  the  rail 

That  up  into  that  murky  air 
Was  my  sole  guide,  began  to  fail ! — 
When  stretching  forth  an  anxious  hand. 
Just  as,  beneath  my  tottering  stand. 
Steps,  railway,  all,  together  went, 

I  touch'd  a  massy  iron  ring, 
That  there — by  what  kind  genius  sent 
I  know  not — in  the  darkness  hung ; 

And  grasping  it,  as  drowners  cling 
To  the  last  hold,  so  firm  I  clung. 
And  through  the  void  suspended  swung. 

Sudden,  as  if  that  mighty  ring 

Were  link'd  with  all  the  winds  in  heav'n. 
And,  like  the  touching  of  a  spring, 

My  eager  grasp  had  instant  given 
Loose  to  all  blasts  that  ever  spread 
The  shore  or  sea  with  wrecks  and  dead — 


60  ALCIPHRON. 

Around  me,  gusts,  gales,  whirlwinds  rang 
Tumultuous,  and  I  seem'd  to  hang 
Amidst  an  elemental  war. 

In  which  wing'd  tempests — of  all  kinds 
And  strengths  that  winter's  stormy  star 

Lights  through  the  Temple  of  the  Winds 
In  our  own  Athens — battled  round, 
Deafening  me  with  chaotic  sound. 
Nor  this  the  worst — for,  holding  still 

With  hands  unmov'd,  though  shrinking  oft, 
I  found  myself,  at  the  wild  will 

Of  countless  whirlwinds,  caught  aloft. 
And  round  and  round,  with  fearful  swing. 
Swept,  like  a  stone-shot  in  a  sling  ! 
Till  breathless,  mazed,  I  had  begun, — 

So  ceaselessly  I  thus  war.  whirled, — 
To  think  my  limbs  were  chained  upon 

That  wheel  of  the  Infernal  World, 
To  turn  which,  day  and  night,  are  blowing 

Hot,  withering  winds  that  never  slumber  ; 
And  whose  sad  rounds,  still  going,  going, 

Eternity  alone  can  number! 
And  yet,  ev'n  then — while  worse  than  Fear 

Hath  ever  dreamt  seem'd  hovering  near, 
Had  voice  but  ask'd  me,  "  is  not  this 

A  price  too  dear  for  aught  below?" 
I  should  have  said  "  for  knowledge,  yes — 

But  for  bright,  glorious  Woman — no." 


ALCIPHRON.  61 

At  last,  that  whirl,  when  all  my  strength 

Had  nearly  fled,  came  to  an  end ; 
And,  through  that  viewless  void,  at  length, 

I  felt  Ihe  still-grasp'd  ring  descend 
Rapidly  with  me,  till  my  feet — 
Oh,  ne'er  was  touch  of  land  so  sweet 
To  the  long  sea-worn  exile — found 
A  resting-place  on  the  firm  ground. 
At  the  same  instant  o'er  me  broke 

A  glimmer  through  that  gloom  so  chill, — 
Like  day-light,  when  beneath  the  yoke 

Of  tyrant  darkness  struggling  still — 
And  by  th'  imperfect  gleam  it  shed, 
I  saw  before  me  a  rude  bed. 
Where  poppies,  strew'd  upon  a  heap 
Of  wiiher'd  lotus,  wooed  to  sleep. 
Blessing  that  couch — as  I  would  bless. 

Ay,  ev'n  the  absent  tiger's  lair, 
For  rest  in  such  stark  weariness, — 

I  crawl'd  to  it  and  sunk  down  there.    * 

How  long  I  slept,  or  by  what  means 
Was  wafted  thence,  I  cannot  say ; 

But,  when  I  woke — oh  the  bright  scenes^ 
The  glories  that  around  me  lay — 

If  ever  yet  a  vision  shone 

On  waking  mortal,  this  was  one ! 


62  ALCIPHRON. 

But  how  describe  it  1  vain,  as  yet, 

While  the  fiist  dazzle  dims  my  eyes, 
All  vain  the  attempt — I  must  forget 

The  flush,  the  newness,  the  surprise. 
The  vague  bewilderment,  that  whelms, 

Ev'n  now,  my  every  sense  and  thought, 
Ere  I  can  paint  these  sunless  realms, 

And  their  hid  glories,  as  I  ought. 
While  thou,  if  ev'n  but  half  I  tell 
Wilt  that  but  Aa// believe— farewell ! 


ALCIPHRON.  63 


LETTER  V. 


FROM   ORCUS,   HIGH   PRIEST     OF     MEMPHIS,   TO     DECIUS, 
THE   PRiETORIAN   PREFECT. 

Rejoice,  my  frietid,  rejoice  :— the  youthful  Chief 

Of  that  light  Sect  which  mocks  at  all  belief, 

And,  gay  and  godless,  makes  the  present  hour 

Its  only  heaven,  is  now  within  our  power. 

Smooth,  impious  school ! — not  all  the  weapons  aimed 

At  priestly  creeds,  since  first  a  creed  was  framed, 

E'er  struck  so  deep  as  that  sly  dart  they  wield, 

The  Bacchant's  pointed  spear  in  laughing  flowers  con- 

ceal'd. 
And  oh,  'twere  victory  to  this  heart,  as  sweet 
As  any  thou  canst  boast, — ev'n  when  the  feet 
Of  ihy  proud  war-steed  wade  through  Christian  blood, 
To  wrap  this  scoffer  in  Faith's  blinding  hood, 
And  bring  him,  tamed  and  prostrate,  to  implore 
The  vilest  gods  ev'n  Egypt's  saints  adore. 

What ! — do  these  sages  think,  to  them  alone 
The  key  of  this  world's  happiness  is  known  ? 


64  ALCIPHROIV. 

That  none  but  they,  who  make  such  proud  parade 

Of  Pleasure's  smiling  favours,  win  the  maid, 

Or  that  Religion  keeps  no  secret  place. 

No  niche,  in  her  dark  fanes,  for  Love  to  grace  1 

Fools'? — did  they  know  how  keen  the  zest  that's  given 

To  earthly  joy,  when  seasoned  well  with  heaven ; 

How  Piety's  grave  mask  improves  the  hue 

Of  Pleasure's  laughing  features,  half  seen  through, 

And  how  the  Priest,  set  aptly  within  reach 

Of  two  rich  worlds,  traffics  for  bliss  with  each, 

Would  they  not,  Decius, — thou,  whom  th'  ancient  tie 

'Twixt  Sword  and  Altar  makes  our  best  ally, — 

Would  they  not  change  their  creed,  their  craft,  for  ours  1 

Leave  the  gross  daylight  joys,  that,  in  their  bowers, 

Languish  with  too  much  sun,  like  o'er-blown  flowers, 

For  the  veil'd  loves,  the  blisses  undisplay'd 

That  slily  lurk  within  the  Temple's  shade  ? 

And,  'stead  of  haunting  the  trim  Garden's  school, — 

Where  cold  Philosophy  usurps  a  rule. 

Like  the  pale  moon's,  o'er  passion's  heaving  tide ; 

Where  pleasure,  cramp'd  and  chill'd  by  wisdom's  pride , 

Counts  her  own  pulse's  regulated  play. 

And  in  dull  dreams  dissolves  her  life  away, — 

Be  taught  by  us,  quit  shadows  for  the  true. 

Substantial  joys  we  sager  Priests  pursue, — 

Who,  far  too  wise  to  theorize  on  bliss, 

Or  pleasure's  substance  for  its  shade  to  miss, 

Preach  other  worlds,  but  live  for  only  this  ; — 


ALCIPHRON.  66 

Thanks  to  the  well-paid  Mystery  round  us  flung, 
Which,  like  its  type,  the  golden  cloud  that  hung 
O'er  Jupiter's  love-couch  its  shade  benign, 
Round  human  frailty  wraps  a  veil  divine. 

Still  less  should  they  presume,  weak  wits,  that  they 

Alone  despise  the  craft  of  us  who  pray ; — 

Still  less  their  creedless  vanity  deceive 

With  the  fond  thought,  that  we  who  pray  believe. 

Believe  ! — Apis  forbid — forbid  it,  all 

Ye  monster  Gods,  before  whose  shrines  we  fall, — 

Deities,  framed  in  jest,  as  if  to  try 

How  far  gross  Man  can  vulgarize  the  sky ; 

How  far  the  same  low  fancy  that  combines 

Into  a  drove  of  brutes  yon  zodiac's  signs. 

And  turns  that  Heaven  itself  into  a  place 

Of  sainted  sin  and  deified  disgrace, 

Can  bring  Olympus  ev'n  to  shame  more  deep, 

Stock  it  with  things  that  earth  itself  holds  cheap. 

Fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  the  kitchen's  sacred  brood. 

Which  Egypt  keeps  for  worship,  not  for  food, — 

All,  worthy  idols  of  a  Faith  that  sees 

In  dogs,  cats,  owls,  and  apes,  divinities ! 

Believe  ! — oh,  Decius,  thou,  who  hast  no  care 
Of  things  divine,  beyond  the  soldier's  share, 
5 


bb  ALCIPHRON. 

^'   '  Who  takes  on  trust  the  faith  for  which  he  bleeds, 
A  good,  fierce  God  to  swear  by,  all  he  needs, —  J 
Little  canst  thou,  whose  creed  around  thee  hangs 
Loose  as  thy  summer  war-cloak,  guess  the  pangs 
Of  loathing  and  self-scorn  with  which  a  heart. 
Stubborn  as  mine  is,  acts  the  zealot's  part, — 
The  deep  and  dire  disgust  with  which  I  wade 
Through  the  foul  juggling  of  this  holy  trade,—- 
/  This  mud  profound  of  mystery,  where  the  feet. 
At  every  step,  sink  deeper  in  deceit.  / 
Oh !  many  a  time,  when,  mid  the  Temple's  blaze, 
O'er  prostrate  fools  the  sacred  cist  I  raise. 
Did  I  not  keep  still  proudly  in  my  mind 
The  power  this  priestcraft  gives  me  o'er  mankind, — 
A  lever,  of  more  might,  in  skilful  hand. 
To  move  this  world,  than  Archimede  e'er  plann'd, — 
I  should,  in  vengeance  of  the  shame  1  feel 
At  my  own  mockery,  crush  the  slaves  that  kneel 
Besotted  round  ;  and, — like  that  kindred  breed 
Of  reverend,  well-drest  crocodiles  they  feed. 
At  famed  Arsinoe,* — make  my  keepers  bless, 
With  their  last  throb,  my  sharp-fang'd  Holiness. 

Say,  is  it  to  be  borne,  that  scoffers,  vain 
Of  their  own  freedom  from  the  altar's  chain, 

*  For  the  trinkets  with  which  the  sacred  Crocodiles  were  orna- 
mented,  see  the  Epicurean,  chap.  10. 


ALCIPHRON.  67 

Should  mock  thus  all  that  thou  thy  blood  hast  sold, 

And  I  my  truth,  pride,  freedom,  to  uphold  I 

It  must  not  be  : — think'st  thou  that  Christian  sect. 

Whose  followers,  quick  as  broken  waves,  erect 

Their  crests  anew  and  swell  into  a  tide, 

That  threats  to  sweep  away  our  shrines  of  pride — 

Think'st  thou,  with  all  their  wondrous  spells,  ev'n  they 

Would  triumph  thus,  had  not  the  constant  play 

Of  Wit's  resistless  archery  clear'd  their  way  1 — 

That  mocking  spirit,  worst  of  all  the  foes. 

Our  solemn  fraud,  our  mystic  mummery  knows, 

Whose  wounding  flash  thus  ever  'mong  the  signs 

Of  a  fast-falling  creed,  prelusive  shines. 

Threatening  such  change  as  do  the  awful  freaks 

Of  summer  lightning,  ere  the  tempest  breaks. 

But,  to  my  point,-— a  youth  of  this  vain  school, 
But  one,  whom  Doubt  itself  hath  failed  to  cool 
Down  to  that  freezing  point,  where  Priests  despair 
Of  any  spark  from  th'  altar  catching  there, — 
Hath,  some  nights  since, — it  was,  methinks,  the  night 
That  followed  the  full  moon's  great  annual  rite, — 
Through  the  dark,  winding  ducts,  that  downward  stray 
To  these  earth-hidden  temples,  track'd  his  way, 
Just  at  that  hour  when,  round  the  Shrine,  and  me, 
The  choir  of  blooming  nymphs  thou  long'st  to  see, 
Sing  their  last  night-hymn  in  the  Sanctuary. 


68  ALCIPHRON. 

The  clangour  of  the  marvellous  Gate,  that  stands 
At  the  Well's  lowest  depth, — which  none  but  hands 
Of  new,  untaught  adventurers,  from  above. 
Who  know  not  the  safe  path,  e'er  dare  to  move, — 
Gave  signal  that  a  foot  profane  was  nigh  : — 
'Twas  the  Greek  youth,  who,  by  that  morning's  sky, 
Had  been  observed,  curiously  wandering  round 
The  mighty  fanes  of  our  sepulchral  ground. 

Instant,  th'  Initiate's  Trials  were  prepared, — 
The  Fire,  Air,  Water ;  all  that  Orpheus  dared, 
That  Plato,  that  the  bright-hair'd  Samian*  pass'd, 
With  trembling  hope,  to  come  to — what^  at  last? 
Go,  ask  the  dupes  of  Myst'ry ;  question  him 
Who,  mid  terrific  sounds  and  spectres  dim, 
Walks  at  Eleusis;  ask  of  those,  who  brave 
The  dazzling  miracles  of  Mithra's  Cave, 
With  its  seven  starry  gates ;  ask  all  who  keep 
Those  terrible  night-myst'ries  where  they  weep 
And  howl  sad  dirges  to  the  answering  breeze, 
O'er  their  dead  Gods,  their  mortal  Deities, — 
Amphibious,  hybrid  things,  that  died  as  men, 
Drown'd,  hang'd,  empaled,  to  rise,  as  gods,  again ; — 
Ask  them,  what  mighty  secret  lurks  below 
This  sev'n-fold  mystery — can  they  tell  thee  ?  No ; 
/  Gravely  they  keep  that  only  secret,  well 
\  And  fairly  kept, — that  they  have  none  to  tell ; 

*  Pythagoras. 


ALCIPHRON.  69 

And,  duped  themselves,  console  their  humbled  pride/ 
By  duping  thenceforth  all  mankind  beside. 

And  such  th'  advance  in  fraud  since  Orpheus'  time, — 

That  earliest  master  of  our  craft  sublime, — 

So  many  minor  Mysteries,  imps  of  fraud. 

From  the  great  Orphic  Egg  have  wing'd  abroad. 

That,  still  to'  uphold  our  Temple's  ancient  boast, 

And  seem  most  holy,  we  must  cheat  the  most; 

Work  the  best  miracles,  v^^rap  nonsense  round 

In  pomp  and  darkness,  till  it  seems  profound ; 

Play  on  the  hopes,  the  terrors  of  mankind. 

With  changeful  skill ;  and  make  the  human  mind 

Like  our  own  Sanctuary,  where  no  ray. 

But  by  the  Priest's  permission,  wins  its  way, — 

Where,  through  the  gloom  as  wave  our  wizard  rods. 

Monsters,  at  will,  are  conjured  into  Gods.; 

While  Reason,  like  a  grave-faced  mummy,  stands. 

With  her  arms  swathed  in  hieroglyphic  bands. 

But  chiefly  in  the  skill  with  which  we  use 
Man's  wildest  passions  for  Religion's  views, 
Yoking  them  to  her  car  like  fiery  steeds. 
Lies  the  main  art  in  which  our  craft  succeeds. 
And  oh  be  blest,  ye  men  of  yore,  whose  toil 
Hath,  for  our  use,  scoop'd  out  of  Egypt's  soil' 


70  ALCIPHRON. 

This  hidden  Paradise,  this  mine  of  fanes, 

Gardens,  and  palaces,  where  Pleasure  reigns 

In  a  rich,  sunless  empire  of  her  own. 

With  all  earth's  luxuries  lighting  up  her  throne  ; — 

A  realm  for  mystery  made,  which  undermines 

The  Nile  itself  and,  'neath  the  Twelve  Great  Shrines 

That  keep  Initiation's  holy  rite. 

Spreads  its  long  labyrinths  of  unearthly  light, 

A  light  that  knows  no  change, — its  brooks  that  run 

Too  deep  for  day,  its  gardens  without  sun, 

Where  soul  and  sense,  by  turns,  are  charm'd,  surprised, 

And  all  that  bard  or  prophet  e'er  devised 

For  man's  Elysium,  priests  have  realized. 

Here,  at  this  moment, — all  his  trials  past, 
And  heart  and  nerve  unshrinking  to  the  last, — 
The  young  Initiate  roves, — as  yet  left  free 
To  wander  through  this  realm  of  mystery. 
Feeding  on  such  illusions  as  prepare 
The  soul,  like  mist  o'er  waterfalls,  to  wear 
All  shapes  and  hues,  at  Fancy's  varying  will. 
Through  every  shifting  aspect,  vapour  still ; — 
Vague  glimpses  of  the  Future,  vistas  shown, 
By  scenic  skill,  into  that  world  unknown. 
Which  saints  and  sinners  claim  alike  their  own  ; 
And  all  those  other  witching,  wildering  arts, 
Illusions,  terrors,  that  make  human  hearts. 


ALCIPHRON.  7 1 

Ay,  ev'n  the  wisest  and  the  hardiest,  quail 
To  any  goblin  throned  behind  a  veil. 

Yes, — such  the  spells  shall  haunt  his  eye,  his  ear, 
Mix  with  his  night-dreams,  form  his  atmosphere ; 
Till,  if  our  Sage  be  not  tamed  down,  at  length, 
His  wit,  his  wisdom,  shollkpf  all  their  strength, 
Like  Phrygian  priests,  in  jl^nour  of  the  shrine, — 
If  he  become  not  absolutely  mine. 
Body  and  soul,  and,  like  the  tame  decoy 
Which  wary  hunters  of  wild  doves  employ. 
Draw  converts  also,  lure  his  brother  wits 
To  the  dark  cage  where  his  own  spirit  flits, 
And  give  us,  if  not  saints,  good  hypocrites, — 
If  I  effect  not  this,  then  be  it  said 
The  ancient  spirit  of  our  craft  hath  fled, 
Gone  with  that  serpent-god  the  Cross  hath  chased 
To  hiss  its  soul  out  in  the  Theban  waste. 


THE    END. 


■ 

1 

H 

^^m 

^M    . 

1 

1 

I 

ivi317560 

>r 


^^•- 


